


#ThatsMySenator

by jaqhad (kyrilu)



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy, Star Wars: Bloodline - Claudia Gray
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Not Canon Compliant, Politics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:49:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22294336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyrilu/pseuds/jaqhad
Summary: In the heart of the Coruscant underworld, a reporter catches Senators Ransolm Casterfo and Leia Organa making illegal plans to take down the budding First Order.Fortunately – or not so fortunately – Leia is good at improvising.
Relationships: Ransolm Casterfo/Leia Organa
Comments: 9
Kudos: 9





	#ThatsMySenator

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place in a hypothetical AU where (1) Lady Carise gives Leia the music box without viewing it, and (2) Leia chooses not to even entertain the possibility of becoming First Senator. Mentions of Han/Leia and them having an open relationship. 
> 
> It took all my willpower not to title this 'senator casterfo stole my wife for political reasons'
> 
> also lol i have no idea how much of an audience there is for this, but whatever, I love this ship.

The lower levels of Coruscant are dirty and bright. It should be a paradox, but it isn’t: it’s all multicolored fluorescence, slug-bitten duracrete, and throngs of bustling people and beings and droids.

Leia weaves through the chaos with quick, sharp determined steps, and Ransolm does his best to keep up.

Ransolm is still slightly uncertain about engaging in Leia Organa’s clandestine operation, but he is pulled by necessity and by a force like gravity. They had gone to Sibensko together and discovered that the Amaxines are being funded by someone – something – bigger, but the evidence had been destroyed.

“Let’s hope this contact of yours pans out,” he says, as they halt in front of a shady-as-kark looking nightclub.

She has the hood of a blue cloak pulled across her face, but her eyes are still visible, dancing bright. “Are you doubting me, Ransolm?”

“Of course not.” Ransolm steps forward and holds out the door for her. “After you, my lady.”

Leia lets out a soft snort, but she goes inside, her robes flowing behind her.

Herglic rage-metal music is blasting throughout the club. It sounds like imploding starships crashing into each other, but at least it’s loud enough to drown out the sound of illegal, unsanctioned schemes plotted by two sitting senators.

Leia orders a drink – Corellian rum – sliding credits across the counter as if she’s done this her entire life. Then, after a hushed, low conversation with the Zabrak bartender, she’s on the move again, pulling him to a booth in the corner of the club.

Lounging on the booth is a person wearing a Wookiee mask. It’s a flimsi-thin disguise and laughably obvious, but it does its job well enough, only revealing rough grey skin underneath.

Leia takes a seat across the stranger, and Ransolm settles next to her. She says, “I heard you have some information for me.”

“Maybe,” the stranger says. The stranger is female, or at least, Ransolm thinks she is, her voice soft and wary. “I don’t trust you New Republic types at all. Pompous bantha shits. But I owe Amilyn, so I’ll give you five minutes.”

Ransolm does his utmost not to bristle.

“Five minutes is enough,” Leia says, unfazed, and she takes a sip of her rum.

“Then you’d better be paying attention.”

Leia nods. “I understand you used to run with the Ranc gang.”

“It was more like a freelance contract gig. They needed some pilots to make deliveries - I did the jobs - I got paid. They’re currently led by this ex-Imperial guy.”

“Who--?” Ransolm starts.

“You’re better off not knowing, pretty boy,” the Wookiee masked stranger says. “He’s a vicious bastard. But if there’s someone who would know about an underground organization trying to revive the Empire… he would know. But I highly recommend not crossing paths with him – he wouldn’t share a single datafile with you if you promised him all the credits in the galaxy.”

“I appreciate the information,” Leia says, tightly. “But with all due respect, this sounds like a dead end.”

The stranger scoffs. “You’re Leia Organa. Figure out the rest.”

Leia says, “There’s more you’re not telling us.” She drops her voice lower. “Amilyn trusts you. She said she hoped you would remember how the stars aligned, the day you met.”

The stranger hesitates. Underneath the mask, her eyes glimmer coal black, swirling with an unidentifiable emotion. Eventually, she continues: “Fine. There’s someone who _might_ talk. The boss had this underling who helped do his dirty work, spying and slicing. Azran Flitt. He’s currently locked up in Megalox. He fucked up, and the boss decided to let him rot there – he still passes on some information he learns from the inside from time to time, but I’m pretty sure he’d rather be out.”

Megalox. The infamous prison.

Ransolm looks over at Leia, and he knows exactly what the expression on her face means. “Don’t tell me you—”

“It’s a promising lead,” Leia says. She turns to the Wookiee-masked stranger. “Thank you. Truly.”

The stranger nods, and then, a beat, she’s gone, lost among the other denizens of the nightclub, her dark cloak streaming behind her. 

Ransolm touches his temples, feeling the ghost of a headache coming on; it’s definitely not from the death-metal music. “Leia, are you suggesting we break this Flitt fellow out of prison? The notorious, impenetrable Megalox Beta--?”

“We might have to,” Leia says, grimly. “We can’t arrange a pardon or official visit without tipping off the Ranc gang leader, who might have Flitt killed by other prisoners. And if it leaks, the public wouldn’t appreciate us bribing our way into Megalox… leaving a credit trail is always a bad idea.”

“We certainly won’t be able to go ourselves,” Ransolm says. “Are you thinking of sending any of your – ah – friends?”

“Oh, _Force_ ,” Leia murmurs, looking past Ransolm’s shoulder. “We were followed.”

Ransolm turns his head a fraction, preparing to spot an enemy who could be affiliated with the Amaxines, but instead… he sees the familiar face of a particularly annoying _Galaxy Beacon_ reporter.

“Okay,” Leia says, “I have a plan. Just stay close to me, and don’t look back.”

Before Ransolm can ask her to explain, she downs the rest of her rum, and she’s on her feet again. Affecting an air of nonchalance, she threads her arm into his, and they’re walking outside the nightclub at a breezy pace, making their way to the parked speeder they had rented earlier that day.

Despite the traffic across Coruscant’s skyways, Leia’s an expert driver. However, instead of returning to the upper levels of Coruscant, like Ransolm expected, instead, she’s plunging downward, deeper.

Ransolm glances at one of the screens. “He’s behind us on a speeder bike.”

“I have a feeling he might have bugged one of us,” Leia says, not moving her eyes away. “We’ll have Artoo scan us when we get back to the hotel.”

“Well, it’s that pesky right to a free HoloNet guaranteed underneath the New Republic,” Ransolm says, wryly, and Leia laughs, a huff of her breath.

Eventually, Leia stops the speeder in front of a grey duracrete building. The traffic is thinner in this area – in fact, it’s more isolated, darker, almost like you’re on a whole different planet altogether.

“What is this place?” Ransolm asks.

“It’s a museum,” Leia says. She put down her hood, and she takes his arm again. “Come on. Let’s take a look around, shall we, Senator?”

It _is_ a museum. Ransolm looks around in astonishment: there are paintings – sculptures – artifacts. But they’re all rather ancient – flimsi drawings of mountains and moons pressed underneath transparisteel; statues of mythical creatures and warriors; knives and axes that don’t have vibroblades and instead carved from more primitive material.

“Why is this museum buried in Coruscant’s underground?” he says, stunned. “I’ve never heard of this place before.”

“It’s something of a haven,” Leia says. “The Empire destroyed many cultural sites across the galaxy. It took the actions of many a brave scholar and librarian to attempt to preserve the pasts of endangered worlds.”

“Why here? Coruscant was the center of the Empire.”

“It used to be the center of the Old Republic, too,” Leia says. “For all its chaos, Coruscant was home to countless universities and museums, before the Empire shut them down or took them over. This museum represents the hope that Coruscant would return to the center of knowledge it once was.”

Ransolm hears the steeliness in Leia’s voice, her unspoken admonition about his own collection: _Stop revering the history of those that destroyed histories._

“I am not naïve, Leia,” he says.

“You’re not,” Leia says, gentle. “Ransolm, you’re anything but that. Nevertheless, it’s important to remember where we come from. Do you remember all the songs your parents sang to you? I thought I did, but sometimes… I’d forget, with Ben.”

Ransolm’s foster parents had brought him to Arkanis alongside other war orphans. They had hired tutors, nursemaids, nannies, who would sing to them and teach lessons to them.

It was a privileged childhood – a Core education, a full stomach, and clean air to breathe – so it was often easy to forget Riosa, his home despite everything. It was easy to forget his long dead parents… but, eventually he returned to the ravaged planet, vowing to rebuild it.

Lost in her own memory, Leia continues: “Oh, it eventually worked out. Han would take over with his stupid spacer shanties, even if they weren’t the most age appropriate for Ben. Or I’d send a holomail to Evaan or any of the other survivors who remember. But, Ransolm, the simple answer is that I wish my son’s grandparents were alive to sing to him.”

And, slowly, Ransolm nods. “No, I understand. That’s why I’m here with you right now, and not anywhere else in the galaxy.”

Leia reaches for his hand, squeezes it, and Ransolm sighs, does the same.

He thinks: He and Leia have their disagreements, and they always will. But it is unquestionable that they both wish for a universe where families survive and prosper.

Their conversation is interrupted by the museum door sliding open. The _Galaxy Beacon_ reporter.

Ransolm gets a better look of him, now. He’s human, sandy-haired and wearing a hat. He’s the same pest that Ransolm has seen outside the Senate building – at press conferences – at political events and gatherings.

“What’s the plan?” Ransolm says in a low murmur. He doesn’t think that Leia just brought him here for a lecture.

“We keep walking,” Leia says.

And they do.

* * *

The next day, the HoloNet channels feature footage of Leia Organa and Ransolm Casterfo walking through the museum with their arms linked together, titled _– PRINCESS_ _LEIA AND HER RIVAL SENATOR BOYTOY?_ – and Ransolm wants to die.

His datapad pings. It’s a message from an unknown holomail address, simply reading:

_Am I supposed to call you Dad now? -BS_

Ransolm immediately deletes it and goes to find Leia.

* * *

In her hotel room, Leia is very calmly sipping a cup of Gatalentan tea and nibbling a butter pastry.

“Did you intend for this?” Ransolm says, holding up his datapad. “It’s. Not ideal.”

“I had Greer draft up a statement already.” She slides her own datapad toward him.

Ransolm reads it over. It’s a neat denial that she and Ransolm ran into each other while conducting their own separate business in Coruscant. Leia had merely volunteered to give Ransolm a tour of a museum, knowing that he was an avid appreciator of history. It ends with the sentences:

_My private business is no one’s concern, but let it be known that I believe in remaining on good terms with one’s political rivals as well as one’s allies. At the end of the day, I am, and always will be, a fighter for the important causes that matter to us all. Unity, peace, and fairness throughout the Republic._

So… there’s somewhat a veneer of plausible deniability, but, Ransolm thinks, as his HoloNet feed refreshes, the press is a hungry sarlacc, and they’ve found other holos of Leia and Ransolm out together in public.

Walking through the gardens of Hosnian Prime arm-in-arm. Grabbing a bite to eat in between Senate sessions, bantering and laughing at a diner or café. The occasional moment when Leia and Ransolm’s eyes meet across the Senate chamber, thinking – _by the gods, did this senator really say that_ – an unmistakable ion current.

Ransolm’s mouth is dry. 

He knows. He knows that he looks like Leia like _that_ , even though he shouldn’t, but there won’t be a day when he won’t. She has an orbit about her, a pull, and he’ll fall back into it every time.

But it’s all on his end, and nothing more.

She is a famous war hero married to another war hero and she has a son. She is focused on her duties, responsibilities, and plans. She views him as young and inexperienced, a holder of beliefs she finds abhorrent, despite the respect and trust they’ve managed to build between them.

Trying to look at the positive side of things, Ransolm says, “At least there aren’t pictures of us and your contact at the nightclub. Nothing regarding what we were discussing.”

“Exactly,” Leia says. “I know this puts us both in an awkward position, but we can make our excuses, and hopefully, in time, the rumors will die down. Our reputations will recover from this, Ransolm. They wouldn’t recover if we’re caught meeting a criminal smuggler and orchestrating a prison break.”

Ransolm runs his hand through the curls of his hair, trying to figure out what to tell his colleagues. Then, he notices a sparkle in her eyes.

Flabbergasted, he says, “Are you enjoying this?”

“I’m flattered that the galaxy thinks that I’m capable of seducing Riosa’s attractive rising senator into my bed, yes.”

“ _Senator Organa._ ”

“An affair’s not a bad cover,” Leia says, thoughtfully, ignoring his outburst. “I know that you grew up on Arkanis, which can be rather backward about relationships, but if we make it clear that our personal and political lives are separate, continuing to vote and write legislation as we always have, most citizens won’t think it’s a big deal. Taking multiple partners is accepted across various cultures, and I can ask Korr—”

“Do not focus group this,” Ransolm says. “Please _._ Should I send an apology holomail to Han Solo?”

He does not mention the flippant message that Ben Solo sent him.

She shakes her head. “No, it’s all right. I’ll talk to him.”

* * *

_Meanwhile, on the HoloNet:_

@freethestars

I can’t believe that Organa is having an affair with a smarmy Centrist son of an akk. The Centrists are literal TERRORISTS behind the Napkin Bombing. The New Republic is a failed experiment, and it must be abolished. #EndAllRegimes

@bluemilk21

I’m disgusted that the HoloNet channels are snooping around the private lives of our representatives. Have some respect, people.

@droidbitten

Casterfo is the hottest piece of ass in the entire chamber. Get it, Princess. #ThatsMySenator

@ewokinapantry

Deeply disturbed by the Organa and Casterfo story. Is Organa preying on him, hoping to secure his vote and lure him to the Populist faction?

@section9master

They’re JUST FRIENDS. This the kind of bipartisanship we need, so the Senate actually gets shit done!!!

@scaledvibro

Wow, I can’t get over those holos. Look at the way they smile at each other. This isn’t just a casual fling.

@spiralparsec

The news about the #CasterganaAffair broke out when Han Solo was in the middle of a race. It’s a miracle he didn’t crash.

@lightningvet

The New Republic is such a joke. Piracy is higher than ever, our trade agreements are a mess, and Mid & Outer Rim worlds constantly get karked over by Core & Inner Rim politicians. This scandal proves that you can’t trust any of them. #BringBacktheEmpire

@slicerxx

If she sleeps with him, who cares. I’m a Zaxxer & I have 5 husbands. But Organa embodies what’s *exactly* wrong with the NR. You call her a hero, a diplomat, a unifier – she’s nothing but an enabler of Centrists & Imperials. Let’s take a look at her legislative record. (1/107)

* * *

“Well, this is an ugly can of bloodworms,” Han says. “Not him. He’s certainly not ugly. I meant this whole mess you’re in.”

“I realize,” Leia says. She’s sitting on her hotel bed, talking to him through her datapad. “I’m doing my best to take it in good humor and reassure Ransolm that this could have gone worse, but… I didn’t know what else to come up with in the spur of the moment.”

“So your immediate solution was – fake an affair.”

“I knew you wouldn’t be bothered.”

“I’m not, sweetheart,” he says. “You know I’m not. I’m just worried it’s too much to handle. You’ve got this shadowy organization on one hand, your deadlocked Senate on another hand, and now this scandal. You don’t have more than two hands.”

“I’ll make a metaphorical third hand,” Leia says. “A prosthetic like Luke’s. And, besides, the press will get bored. There’s nothing unseemly or salacious for anyone to find, because Ransolm and I… aren’t.”

“Have you thought of--?”

“Perhaps,” she admits, quietly.

He’s dashing and handsome, but more importantly, a good person. Her years at the Senate have been full of turmoil, strife, inaction, frustration, but Ransolm Casterfo has not yet given up hope. It’s heartening and enthralling, the determination and strength in his blue eyes.

Some days, she thinks it would be easy, so easy, to ask, and he would gladly give. But she holds back, not wanting to ruin the delicate friendship they share.

Han’s brow shoots up. “Huh. Wow. I never thought a politician would be your type, to be honest. You spend a lot of time complaining about them.”

“You complain about Quarrens’ mouth tentacles all the time, but you slept with two in Kijimi last year.”

Han laughs. “I needed a way to keep warm on that kriffing winter planet. It was like Hoth all over again. I’m glad you found someone to keep you company, though -- I know it’s different for you. This guy’s really that special, huh?”

“Something like that,” Leia says, smiling.

“Have you talked to our son yet? It’d be best if he heard from you. He, er, already knows we’re not the strongest about fidelity—”

Leia winces. While on break from traveling with Luke, a young Ben had accompanied Han on a trip to Canto Bight to meet up with some old friends. He had walked in on Han and one of his ‘friends,’ and Han had to give him the talk… 

She’s pretty sure than Han had fumbled that conversation massively.

“He’s my next call,” she says. “If he’s not out of reach.”

“Alright, I’ll let you do that. By the way, before I go, is there anything you want me to tell the reporters at my back? I’ve just been ‘no commenting’ them."

“Tell them to fuck off.”

“Will do, sweetheart.”

* * *

In the end, Ransolm Casterfo sends his own message to his Centrist colleagues, a letter that basically says:

  1. No, he is not having an affair with Senator Organa.
  2. Yes, he really did run into her by coincidence on Coruscant.
  3. He only accepted her invitation to the museum out of politeness. He will always be a collector of Imperial remnants at the end of the day.
  4. He remains dedicated to the Centrist ideals. They will always have his voice and support.



And other platitudes.

Truth be told, he remains frustrated by his colleagues. They hadn’t taken any action regarding Rinnrivin Di, and he knows – he _knows_ – that several must be complicit with this strange murky organization.

Any progress that’s been made has all been with Leia. That’s where the fight is.

His thoughts are interrupted by a pending holocall. _Who..?_

Arliz Hadrassian. The dark-haired, dark-eyed Amaxine.

After their first meeting, she hadn’t contacted him again.

“Senator Casterfo,” she says, dipping her head in greeting.


End file.
